


wicks and whims

by minipin



Category: My Hero Academia, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alpha Sero Hanta, Bakugou Katsuki is a Dork, Bakusquad (My Hero Academia), Couple of guys bein dudes, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Kaminari Denki is a Good Friend, Kirishima Eijirou Needs a Hug, Kirishima Eijirou is a Good Friend, Light Angst, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minipin/pseuds/minipin
Summary: Birthday shenanigans ft. rock, tape, outlet, and sparks. Not like you had anything else in mind.





	wicks and whims

“Honestly? This isn’t the worst thing you’ve caught us doing.”

Denki’s hand hovered over the melting pot set atop the middle counter in their shared apartment kitchen, as he made eye contact with the boy staring at them in unmasked befuddlement. Hot wax dribbled off of the side, layers of it already covering Bakugo’s arms. He lay next to the pot, smack dab in the center of the island, looking a little too nonchalant for Eijiro’s taste. Kirishima blanched at the mess.

“I’m not the one telling Hanta about this.”

Kaminari snorted and waved a dismissive hand, not waning from the task in front of him. “It’s for a good cause; he can’t say no to this.”

“A good—  _what_ — what are you doing?” the redhead asked incredulously. He could usually keep up really well with their skylarking—apt to co-conspiring—but this was on another level and Kiri needed context.

“Hanta can’t say no to what?”

Caught in a stupor collecting his thoughts, Kirishima thwipped around to find a now frozen Sero standing in the doorway, his eyebrow scrunched and lip tucked between his teeth; whether in confusion, curiosity, or barely contained annoyance—Eijiro couldn’t tell. He prayed it was more of the first two, quite honestly feeling blessed that Hanta hadn’t started screaming at them for stupidly using his dishware again.

The room was silent, until Bakugo’s head thumped the counter beneath him, gazing at them in an upside-down deadpan.

“It’s the chick’s birthday.” If the two bystanders could look more confused, they somehow managed.

They knew what day it was—the boys had been counting down the weeks religiously behind your back since first meeting you many, many long months ago.

You’d all taken a few semester’s worth of classes together, with you mingling and growing close to their long established friend group one-by-one. For a while, you were regarded as ‘this one girl from class’—until the day Hanta brought you home and introduced you as his girl from oral communications and cultural awareness. From there, everything fell into place and now they knew why you sounded so familiar in each the others’ stories.

Kirishima put his hand to his chin, slowly gathering a train of thought.  _'What does (Y/n)’s birthday have to do with—’_

He stopped.  _'Oh_.  _I get it.’_

Kirishima chortled and snapped his fingers, and leapt into a squat right on the counter next to Katsuki.

“Add a little more (favorite color) here and here; (Y/n)’ll like that.”

“Guys, help? I’m a little lost,” Hanta nearly cried.

Denki looked up at Sero, the absolute seriousness in his demeanor despite the circumstances almost making the latter burst out laughing.

“We’re going to need more food coloring.”

………………..

The sun broke through your swishing curtains, the midmorning light gently prodding you awake. It wasn’t terribly bright—just enough to let you know the day had already begun without you.

You didn’t want to get out of bed. Melancholy settled over your drowsy comportment, a raging inferiority complex inflamed by the mere date souring your mood.

You used to love your birthday. You really, really did; and you could pick some of your fondest memories from past ones; when those closest to you would take the time to celebrate something as intricately simple as your existence. However, you’d been on a bit of a rotten streak. The past couple of years you’d been alone, receiving empty and last minute texts or phone calls, all as formalities. You did your best to appreciate every single one of  _them—but_ it stung to not feel even the teeniest bit special on a day like this.

Of course, you were very stubborn and this was supposed to be your day; You were determined to spend it running your own show, even if that meant starting as slowly as possible. You curled around the bed sheets and blurrily glanced at the clock on your nightstand.

_9:49_.

It wasn’t much later than when you usually rose, but you’d hoped to sleep as much of the day away without going overboard. This was probably as good as it was going to get though. In what sounded like a verbal keyboard smash, you flipped on to your stomach and grumbled into the pillow. You argued back and forth with yourself, eventually willing your eyes to open and feet to kick out from under the covers.

A splash of water to your face, you figured, might do some good.

You staggered to the bathroom, already fantasizing about that can of soup in the kitchen cupboard you’d been saving with your name on it, when you went to look yourself over in the mirror. Only, it was gone.

Your reflection was instead replaced by a sink to ceiling barrage of harlequin sticky notes.

In the flurry of yellows , reds, blues, purples, greens, and oranges, you were able to make out little shapes of foods. Cute little burgers winked at you and high-fived bottles of hot-sauce… and were those… beans?

_'I…._

_What?’_

“What is all of this…?”

No names jumped out at you—no indication as to who had broken in to tag your bathroom. You leaned closer and peered at the writing on some of the squares…

“ _ **Roses are red, violets are blue**_

_**We hope to have done as much as we can for you**_.”

“ _Lilacs are purple and daisies are white,_

_When we think of you, we can’t imagine anything as bright.”_

“ ** _A great wave in the shape of a heart, you are as dauntless and lionhearted as they come!”_**

_“It’s your birthday.”_

You actually choked, carefully plucking these cheesy—but nonetheless touching—messages off of the glass. Snorting at the last one again, you placed it on top of the stack and set it to the side of the sink.

Your giggling breaths fluttered the paper as you continued reading the rest.

_“This is so lame.”_

“ ** _Dude you have to make it rhyme.”_**

_“ **You fool yours didn’t even do that**.”_

**“ _You guys stooop these are the last of my burger post-its.”_**

“ _You’re wasting them too. Why is it that we’re passing notes again?”_

_**“I don’t know man,** _ _**it’s 3:52 and I can’t feel my tongue anymore** _ _.”_

You huffed out a much louder laugh this time, and you couldn’t decide if that was because of the exchange itself, or the fact that they must have been so out of it by the time they were done, that they’d stuck these in with the rest of their little messages. You noticed that a majority of the other sticky notes still taped to the mirror were dotted with little doodles—one with a sunglasses-wearing banana pointing finger guns; another with a ripped—literally ripped, it had arms—dumbbell curling another, smaller dumbbell; next, what looked like a sun sparking off lightning bolts, with a big 'BIRTH’ written beneath it. The more you flipped through, the weirder they got, and you realized the boys were probably trying to one-up each other.

Shaking your head in feigned exasperation, you grabbed at an orange note printed with little hot dogs. Your fingers slid over an imprint in the bottom corner, and you pulled it away to see what was written there.

In tiny scripture, it read:

‘ _happy birthday.’_

The backs of your eyes stung.

You were so submerged in emotion, you almost disregarded one note pressed to the sink faucet as a fly-away piece of the collage. Comically drawn arrows stretched the corners, making it clear you were supposed to turn back around through the door. You followed, pressing your new letters close to your chest.

Padding gently into the hallway, you briefly wondered why err on the side of caution—it was  _your_  house—but after an explosion like that, you were chary of what could come next.

It took a few delicate steps into your living room before you were blasted in the face with confetti.

_“Happy birthday!”_

You almost screamed, and clutched your midsection in surprise. Quickly swiping away the colorful paper, you took a glance about the room.

Long strips of tape snaked across the roof, dip-dyed in a mixture of color—each with their own personality, and you were sure you could figure out who did which, based on the care taken to some more than others. Bright balloons to coincide the wild embellishment of the tape-streamers hung in corners, stuck to picture frames, encroached house plants, swung on ceiling fans, and practically replaced the furniture in your apartment.

And standing in front of your coffee table, were your best friends.

“You guys… I don’t know what to…” Your face twisted from welcome surprise, into concentrated perplexity.

Kirishima and Sero stood holding now empty party poppers, sporting the biggest grins. They flanked a very proud looking Denki, unfolding his arms in a flourish, as if to say ’ _ta-da_!’

And standing between himself and Sero—the thing he brandished with an unadulterated, proud glimmer in his eye—was Bakugo Katsuki.

Covered in  _colorful_  wax.

And his hair was on fire.

“We made you a candle!” Eijiro gushed.

“More of a Human Torch, really.”

Katsuki growled, angling what he could of his neck to eye the boy next to him. He teetered a little and would’ve fallen on his face if it hadn’t been for Kaminari being there to steady him.

“I can be a damn good candle, Scotch tape, so you shut your mouth.”

“Lotta big talk for a guy covered up to his neck in (favorite color) wax.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Kirishima snorted. “We’d like to see you  _try_ —”

“Dudes, dudes, dudes— birthday now, blow up later, okay, it’s (Y/n)’s thing, so can we just—” Denki made a waving motion with his hands, rounding up a near prima donna whine in impatience.

Meanwhile, you’d stuffed your knuckles into your mouth, choking back fits of laughter. Your eyes actually watered this time, vision swimming with the utmost delight.

Unable to contain it anymore, you hiccuped a sharp inhale-strangled giggle conjunction, thusly pulling the attention of the four boys back to you.

“Seriously, I… I don’t even know what to say. I—”

“’ _Thank you_ ’ would be a good start.”

“I– no, yes,  _thank you_ , Katsuki—” you chuckled. “But that’s not what I meant. I-I mean, this is a very strange and generous kindness… You set yourself on  _fire_  for me—”

“—I can do that, dumbass—”

“—no, I  _know_ what your powers are—what I’m  _trying_  to say is—”

You sighed, and lifted a hand to the back of your neck to rub awkwardly, tilting your head with a thankful smile. “I’m just glad I’m not as alone as I’d initially thought.”

The guys were stunned, to say the least. They knew they had all been friends with you just for a few months time, but…

“You can’t believe we’d leave you hanging like that, would you?” Kirishima’s sad eyes almost made you regret saying anything at all, and you quickly melted into an apology. You never got the chance to speak though, as Sero piped in with an enthused grin.

“Yeah! It’s only been a year, but you’re one of us. It wouldn’t be the same without you and—”

“'Sides, you’re so hopeless, 'f we didn’t babysit you all the damn time who’d  _know_  what’d happen?”

“Whatwe mean to say is,” Kirishima began, “we’re a  _team._ ”

“And don’t you forget it,” Kaminari finished with a wink and a click of his tongue.

You pressed your lips together into a small smile, folding your hands behind your back—seconds away from boiling over and dissipating into a smoke screen of tears.

It was all you could do to manage, so you dumbly mumbled a fragile, “Right. Okay.”

Katsuki huffed and waddled around the coffee table, haphazardly making his way over to stand in front of you. The fire on his head sparked and he slammed his foot to a stop. He leveled his glare to you.

“Now,” he demanded, “blow me.”

You blinked owlishly at him. “Excuse me?”

The boys behind him snickered, and he tersely leaned his head forward.

“ _Blow_ ,” he reiterated.

You smiled, stepping up to your tip toes to place your hands at his shoulders. When you were close enough, Bakugo quietly murmured in your ear.

“Make a wish, kid.”

You already had one waiting patiently on the tip of your tongue, and without a second thought, you pursed your lips and puffed out the flame.

You wished for them. They were here already, but you wished for them anyway because you realized they’re all you really wanted and needed right now.

What that could mean? Who knew?

You’d figure it out, you were sure. And you were more than excited to see what that could mean for them too.

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday/unbirthday to the guy, gal, non-binary pal reading this (:
> 
>  
> 
> yoinked straight from tumblr!  
> https://mykeromacadamia.tumblr.com/post/175874412386/of-wicks-and-whims-and-wishes-honestly-this


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